He wrapped both arms around her and pulled her upright to hug her back against his chest. His lips brushed her silky hair. “You’re beautiful.”
She chuckled. “It’s too dark in here for you to know that.”
“I know it.”
“Do you think you can make it through your concert now?”
“Not really. No.”
He held her against him, thumbs stroking her bare nipples against the inside of her silk top, until his breath stilled. When he thought he might be able to live without being buried inside her, he slipped free of her body with a regretful wince.
She turned in his arms and drew him close—pressing her soft breasts into his chest.
“I’m going to go clean up.” She kissed his jaw. “And make a hotel reservation.” Kissed his chin. “Pack a suitcase, but no clothes.” Kissed his lips. “I don’t want to see you until after the show,” she said. “And then I want to see nothing but you for the next two days.”
She left him in the dark closet. He was too breathless to follow.
When Brian finally managed to find his way out of the supply closet and to the backstage area, someone thrust a guitar in his hands. He lifted its strap over his head and settled his guitar into place. The crowd was already roaring with excitement. His band looked a bit worse for wear after the events of last night, but they were ready to hit the stage. And he was too consumed by thoughts of his bride to suffer from his normal preconcert nerves. He just wanted to get on the stage, rock the roof off the arena, and return to his wife.
“Finally done boning Myrna?” Trey asked.
Brian grinned. “Not by a long shot. The real honeymoon starts in forty-six minutes.”
Trey stumbled over the bottom step as he headed onstage. Brian wished he would just go to the fucking hospital and get it over with, but he knew why Trey hated hospitals—he’d spent too many hours in them when his father had been a resident. But that didn’t excuse him from seeking medical attention when he needed it.
Brian took him by one arm to help him climb the stairs. “You sure you’re okay, buddy?”
“Like you care.” Trey wrenched his arm out of Brian’s grasp and trotted over to his spot stage right.
Brian shook his head. “Serve him right if it turned out to be something serious,” he grumbled to himself.
Chapter Eight
The opulent lobby of the Venetian couldn’t compete for Myrna’s attention; her husband had it all. He had a smudge of eyeliner under his left eye, which was still horribly bruised. His black T-shirt was damp with sweat. Clumps of hair clung to his neck and face. Yeah... hot. Even though he’d assured her that his concert that night had been the worst Sinners had ever performed, she wished she’d seen him onstage. Nothing turned her on more than watching this man delight fifteen thousand fans with his talented fingers. Except when those talented fingers were delighting her alone.
“Your Prima Suite is on the thirty-fifth floor,” the clerk said and slid a set of keycards across the counter.
“I want to make sure we understand each other,” Brian said to him. “Do not disturb us under any circumstances. I don’t care if the hotel is on fire. I don’t care if the fuckin’ President of the United States needs to speak to me. Do. Not. Disturb. Got it?”
Eyes wide, the attractive olive-skinned man swallowed hard and nodded. “I understand, Mr. Sinclair.”
“Has our room service order been sent up to our room already?” Myrna asked. “I placed it when I made the reservation.”
“I’ll check to make sure.” The clerk reached for the phone.
Brian didn’t wait for confirmation. He grabbed the keycards off the counter and took Myrna’s hand to lead her to the elevator. “I don’t need room service,” he said. “I need my wife.” He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Uninterrupted for hours.”
“We have all night,” she said. “And all day tomorrow.”
“I hope you aren’t planning on sleeping.”
She grinned and shook her head.
Because the hotel was so massive, it took them a while to find the right elevator. Myrna could tell Brian was frustrated with the delay. “Sweetheart, relax.”
“This isn’t exactly how I pictured my wedding day to go. I wanted it to be special for you, and it’s just been one interruption after another.”
“It has been special for me.”
She smiled at him, but he didn’t look convinced. When the elevator slid open, she was very happy to find it empty. Brian ushered her inside and set their suitcase down before tapping the button to their floor.
He needed to loosen up and quit stressing over stuff he had no control over. And luckily for him, she knew exactly how to get his mind off his worries.
She grabbed two fistfuls of his hair and kissed him. Hard. “You make me so fucking hot, Master Sinclair,” she said, staring up into his intense brown eyes. She knew he didn’t like her to call him by his stage name, but she absolutely wanted to live the fantasy with her rock star husband before she lived another fantasy with the amazing man beneath the stage persona. “Can I do something for you, my personal sex god? Anything. I’m your number one fan.”
Brian chuckled and wrapped both arms around her. “Don’t call me Master Sinclair, that’s what you can do for me.”
He hadn’t seemed to mind the title when he’d been pounding her hard and pulling her hair in a dark closet backstage.
“Is that all I can do for you?” Myrna circled his body to stand behind him. Sliding her hands over his lower belly, her pinkies dipped into the waistband of the jeans riding low on his narrow hips. “Because I really want to please you, Master Sinclair.”